Later, Harry found himself in prison, awaiting the court’s judgment. Regardless of whether Fiona deserved to die for her crimes, the fact remained that he had committed murder.
Given his special status and the numerous people entangled in his vast wealth, some higher-ups sought to protect him. Combined with his illness, the worst-case scenario wouldn’t be too severe – at most, a restriction of his freedom. If he were cured, he’d be sentenced to prison time; if not, the rest of his life would be spent in the hospital, his days numbered.
Thus, the court’s verdict would be revealed a month later. In the interim, after Harry’s incarceration, numerous individuals tried to visit him on a daily basis, only to be turned away each time.
Within the confines of the prison, Harry appeared relatively normal. He ate three meals a day, adhered to a typical sleep schedule, and lived a life not much different from the one outside, except for his rarity in speech. His primary question each day was always the same:
“Any news of Hattie?”
Every time, the guards shook their heads, revealing nothing.
His physical form seemed to have lost its soul, akin to a walking corpse. While the guards observed his apparent normalcy, Harry would vomit after each meal, his stomach void of sustenance. Although he slept on time at night, his closed eyes only conjured visions of Hattie’s fallen figure.
Presently, he endured his existence to receive news of Hattie. If he learned of her death, he’d willingly follow suit.
No one could prevent a person intent on dying.
On the twentieth of May, an ordinary day came, along with another visitor to Harry’s cell, this time being Micah.
At the mere mention of Micah’s arrival, Harry, without the guards’ prompting, extended his cuffed hands, eager to depart.
Micah’s presence undoubtedly indicated knowledge of Hattie’s situation.
Harry quickened his pace, the chains around him clinking loudly. In the two weeks of his imprisonment, he had visibly lost weight, the shackles chafing his ankles painfully.
Inside the visiting room, Micah awaited Harry, his gaze fixed beyond the door until the sound of Harry’s approach prompted him to turn. His eyes met Harry’s.
Micah harbored deep resentment for this man, adamantly wishing he could storm in and end Harry’s life.
Expecting to find comfort in Harry’s misery, Micah found none. Despite Harry’s evident anxiety, guilt, and panic surfacing, Micah remained dispassionate, devoid of any warmth in his eyes.
Harry’s expression faltered upon seeing this cold version of Micah.
He knew of Micah from the hospital – Hattie’s colleague, friend, and partner. He had always sensed Hattie’s feelings towards Micah, feigning ignorance to avoid acknowledgment.
Whenever Hattie sought escape or disobeyed, Micah became her Achilles’ heel.
No method proved simpler than leveraging Micah against Hattie. Still, every time Harry exploited this tactic, he harbored internal reluctance.
The more Hattie acquiesced, the more apparent Micah’s importance in her heart. Eventually, Harry found himself powerless to act against Micah.
“Where’s Hattie?” Harry’s voice, already hoarse from prolonged silence and daily vomiting due to acid reflux, sounded like gravel grinding against stone.
“Do you have the audacity to mention her?” Micah’s detached tone cut through the air. Despite the numerous emotions roiling within Harry, including worry, guilt, and panic, they amounted to naught in Micah’s eyes.
Harry’s expression turned to shock. Upon hearing the three damning words from Micah’s lips,
“She’s dead.”
In an instant, Harry lunged forward, palms slamming against the glass window. “You’re lying! Micah, you’re lying!”
With eyes wide and tearing, Harry’s body shook, still held back by the guards, his very being on the verge of collapse.
Unable to ascertain Micah’s expression, his mind refused to accept the reality of Hattie’s demise.
“Do you think she could survive another bullet, bleeding profusely from her frail form?” Micah dealt another blow, “All she cared about were her family. After learning of her parents’ death at your hands, do you know what she thought?”
“She once harbored gratitude towards her family’s destroyers, mistaking them for kin. She cried out ‘brother,’ loved, and hated… Her body defiled by those enemies, birthing their children, accumulating so much resentment, she couldn’t seek vengeance. Consumed by the desire to reunite with her parents, I couldn’t rouse her…”
With tears streaming down his face, Harry listened intently to Micah’s words. As anguish consumed him and his innards twisted in pain, he found himself unable to contain his sobs.
“Harry, why isn’t it you who’s dead? Compared to Fiona, you are the one most deserving of death.”
Hattie was gone, and with her, Harry’s reason for living. For Micah was right – he was the one who should have perished. Without delay, he resolved to find Hattie.
“But Hattie didn’t want you to die.”